


The First of One Thousand and One Nights

by Davechicken



Series: Tales of Araby [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Human!Crowley, M/M, human!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2018-01-02 08:44:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Follows on from Scheherazade, but completely different in tone.)</p><p>Crowley isn't all that happy about being human again, but Castiel convinces him that a hunting trip together will be good for them both. That is, if they can get through it without having to ask for help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First of One Thousand and One Nights

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Scheherazade](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1033174) by [Davechicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken). 



"I found something!"

Crowley peered over the top of his laptop to where the once-angel was bouncing into the room, his blue eyes alight with excitement as if it was Christmas. It wasn't Christmas. Not for a few months, anyway. 

"Are you going to share with the class, or just dance around like a ballerina on opening night?"

Castiel ignored the jibe, and pranced over to the couch Crowley was lying on, with the warm laptop resting on his stomach. Crowley turned as Cas crouched down and sat on his haunches, eyes mostly level.

"The map... you know the supernatural things map?"

"Yes, I know the map."

"Well. It lit up."

Crowley lay, waiting for the rest of the sentence. It didn't come.

"I thought it was supposed to do that," he relented, in the end.

"Yes. It is. When it senses something... otherworldly has happened."

"Jolly good."

"So we should work out what!"

"Yes, I gathered that."

"But it can be our first case, Crowley!" The ex-angel grabbed him by the arm and shook him. "Dean said we can take it. He said it was about time we got out there and did something useful, and that it would be good practice for us and that we could phone up for help if we got stuck."

Crowley reached for the lid of his laptop and closed it, carefully. "Does this... did this strange phenomenon happen to appear in a very uninteresting, unappealing part of the country? Far, far away?"

"No. Just Bridgewater."

"Massachusetts?"

"Yes!"

"You do realise that's about as far away as it's possible to be, without needing the passports neither of us own?"

"It's going to be an adventure, Crowley. Now stop being negative and start doing... hunting!"

"Fine. Fine. But you're going to have to talk Dean into lending us one of the cars, because I am _not_ taking a bus."

"It's going to be so much fun!"

No, Crowley thought, it really wasn't.

***

Crowley knew how to work modern technology just fine. When Sam offered to show him how to narrow down his search results, Crowley growled at him that he'd not been King of Hell without knowing how to use filtering and social media, thank you very much.

He was beginning to regret that, now. And he was beginning to think Dean was trying to punk him by giving them the worst place to research since - well - the Hellmouth under Sunnydale. Seriously? The Bridgewater Triangle? Home to UFOs, poltergeists, Big Foot, giant snakes, Thunderbirds, native Indian curses, Satanic worship and cattle mutilations? 

"So have you found out anything?" Cas asked, jumping onto the chair next to Crowley at the table and scooting close.

"I've found a million and one things, my overly-eager basset hound."

"Let me see?"

Crowley relinquished control of his machine and let Cas scroll through the tab upon tab of news stories and insane claims. He watched as his partner's eyes grew wider and wider.

"It's going to be like finding a needle in a haystack," he groused.

"This is incredible. Dean has really given us a good first job. We might be able to solve three - no - four! - four mysteries with one trip."

"I reckon most of them could be solved by the apropos introduction of a piece of hijinks cure-all I like to call a 'two by four'." Crowley took another sip of his coffee and wondered why humanity hadn't died out in the places coffee shops hadn't yet been invented (which were, admittedly, getting fewer and further between.)

"We can pack that alongside the stakes, silver, holy water, shotguns and everything else," Cas agreed. "I thought you didn't like getting your hands dirty?"

"I don't. I'm going to point, and you're going to swing. It will be a team effort. Go Team Us."

"Dean said we could take anything except the Impala or the motorbike which belongs to Dorothy."

"Alright. Did you pick one?"

"No."

"Why don't we pick one together?" It sure beat reading through yet another list of crazy people insisting their babies were the result of space-aliens ass-raping them, or whatever the latest fun 'also in the news' story he could find.

"I would like that, Crowley."

"Lead on, McDuff."

***

The Men of Letters had kept a very nice stable of cars, when all was said and done, and the Impala (cursed, wretched car that it was), fit in nicely with the others. Crowley had no desire to borrow the Impala for anything other than vehicular manslaughter and a motorbike was much too dangerous and solitary for his liking, so Dean's insistence they take something else was no hardship.

It did, however, leave him with the worrying prospect of... picking. He'd never actually driven one, you see. By the time cars came around, someone else was always doing the driving. He knew what looked nice and that good boot space and so on were valuable commodities, but other than that his knowledge of cars ended with 'some come in black, some come in other colours'. 

"Do you have any preference?" Crowley asked, as they walked through the garage, his eyes flickering from machine to machine.

"Not really. I have been told cup holders are useful, but also that you can buy ones to attach if the car doesn't come with one."

That was about as helpful as...

"How about a colour?"

"The Impala is a nice car," Cas suggested. "We could take one like that?"

"I suppose..." Crowley peered at them. One on the end looked like a cardboard box with wheels drawn on, like a small child's idea of a car. "What about a soft-top?"

"Pea green? It wouldn't go with anything you owned," Cas said, scoffingly. "And the red one looks too small for the things we will need to take with us."

Crowley was strangely touched that Cas was considering his wardrobe. They walked further along.

"That one."

Cas peered at it. 

"Yes. That one looks nice and roomy. And it is black and shiny. It looks like... it looks like the car you would drive."

"Well. Good. Because I think we found the right kind."

Not too sure what kind it was - it was old and therefore not one he immediately recognised - Crowley paced around behind it. "It... appears to be a Cadillac. A 'Sixty Special'."

Cas sniggered. "A six-six-six?"

"Almost," Crowley agreed, walking back round to the front. His fingers trailed just above the surface, not wanting to spoil the perfect patina. "Well. We've got our ride. We can carry on doing the groundwork as we travel. Maybe by the time we get there it will make sense why we've gone."

"Okay. Shall we go pack?"

"Yes. You go pack. I have to do something first."

***

The 'something' was learn how to drive. How hard could it be? If Dean Winchester could do it, Crowley could do it.

He took his laptop up to his room and watched videos on youtube. And read articles. And the highlights about signs and turns and speeds. It was a lot to take in, and he was beginning to wonder if maybe a bus wasn't such a bad idea after all? If they got on a big enough one then they could... no. No. Even as a human, Crowley still had standards. Under no circumstances was he stepping foot on anything longer than three people unless it had wings or ran on rails and even then it would be first class or he wouldn't sully himself.

He didn't realise how long he'd been staring at websites until there was a cautious knock to his door.

"It's open," he called out, finishing a paragraph and looking up.

"Oh."

It was Cas. 

Cas stood in the doorframe with a heavy duffle bag slung over one shoulder, but his face was a picture of disappointment. Crowley was confused by just how crestfallen the ex-angel looked.

"What's wrong, kitten?"

"You aren't packed, Crowley."

"It won't take me long."

Blue eyes narrowed at him and Crowley did his best not to wilt under the force of that stare. He knew it was bull - so did Cas - but he wasn't going to admit it.

"You don't want to go," he said, after he'd apparently stared for long enough. "It's okay. I can go on my own."

"Don't be ridiculous, Cas. You know Dean would never let you go off hunting on your own. I do want to go. I was just... researching." He knew he was talking a little too rapidly, but he was also aware that he was only here by the grace of Cas. Dean in particular would as soon gut him as look at him, and if he didn't pull his weight then he'd be on his ear. And for all it was a pain in the posterior to try pretending he was now somehow good or acceptable or at least not-evil... he had no money, no identity, no anything. He'd make it somehow, but he wasn't exactly sure _how_. 

"Well. I could find someone else. I'm sure Dean knows someone who would want to work with me, even... even as a human." Cas hefted the bag again.

Crowley frowned. "Cas. You are - were - an _angel_. You know more about supernatural creatures than most hunters ever would. Not to mention you were a soldier of the Lord. Anyone who didn't value your experience would deserve the rapid death they have coming to them." Why the hell did Cas feel so self-conscious? If anyone was going to suck at this, it was him. He was more an ideas man than a hands-on man.

The man refused to meet his eyes, and Crowley rolled his in annoyance. "I'll pack. I promise I wasn't slacking off. I _was_ doing research."

"Okay."

Crowley waited for the 'what were you researching', but it never came. Was he really that naive and trusting? Although, the way he lingered just a moment too long... the moment stretching into that uncomfortable silence Cas seemed so very fond of. He looked about ready to go but...

"I don't know how to drive." Crowley wasn't sure why he blurted it out, but he did.

Cas' eyes narrowed now. "An automobile?"

"Yes, Cas. A car. Wheels. A ride. I don't know how to drive. I've never needed to know how, and now I do."

"I can drive."

Crowley sat back on the bed, confused. "You can?"

"Yes. Sam gave me lessons." The once-angel headtilted at him. "I thought... I thought you knew how to."

"Well, evidently you thought incorrectly. I didn't exactly need to travel the slow way before, and if I did, I would have had someone else drive me."

"I can teach you. I'm not wonderful, but I can teach you. Unless you want to take real lessons or ask Sam. Sam is better at it than Dean."

The thought of driving with Dean made Crowley chuckle. "I think Winchester Elder _would_ murder me if he tried to give me lessons."

Cas opened his mouth to say something else, but then he shut it with an audible snap. "You pack," he said, at last. "I will get everything ready for us to go. I will drive until we are somewhere safe and then I will show you. I will tell Sam and Dean that you prefer to have someone else do the driving, and that I want practice." And just like that he nodded and was gone.

And Crowley was left staring after him in confusion.

***

Cars did, at least, come with a little hanger for your suits. And humanity had also invented bags for suits. It was always going to feel like slumming it, but Crowley conceded the point that he was slumming it as _well_ as you could.

It was about a three day drive, if the roads held. The car was old and only had a radio in, but they'd decided they could get an updated sound system in if they needed to later on. 

Crowley was surprised Dean stopped shy of giving them lunchboxes with sandwiches in, because when they'd set out it felt like he was sending his firstborn off to school for the first time. It was ridiculous seeing how Dean treated Cas. Didn't he realise that Castiel was almost as old as the universe and just because he'd not had to tie shoelaces for the majority of that time it didn't make him a child? Apparently not.

Castiel was - it turned out - the most ridiculously cautious and careful driver Crowley had ever seen. He checked his mirrors about a million times and he was always driving - from what he could tell - two clicks under the speed limit. The radio was tuned to something low and inoffensive, but mostly it was there for the noise.

"I don't know why you let him treat you like that."

"Sorry?"

Crowley shrugged. "Dean."

"Like what?"

"He seems to think you're stupid, Cas."

"Well, I do not have as much experience as--"

"Cut the crap, darling. You've been watching this world since day one. Yes, you might not understand all the pop culture references or the little things... but you're not an idiot, Cas."

"He doesn't think I'm an idiot." But Cas' cheeks were going pink and his eyes were firmly on the road.

"Alright. Well. We'll just have to show him how incredible a team we are, won't we?"

"Yes."

That was clearly the end of that discussion, so Crowley sat back in his seat and closed his eyes. The rumbling of the road beneath the car's wheels was a strangely soothing sensation. He'd forgotten how visceral human existence was. It was a confusing mess of things requiring his attention (food, drink, voiding the food and drink, sleep, being too cold, being too hot, being too _everything_ ) and the strange noises a body made. He didn't remember his previous body making quite so many burbling noises. And then there was breathing! That was annoying. As was yawning. The first time he'd yawned his ears had popped and Crowley had cursed everything alive in shock. He found he spent far too much of his time worrying about making sure his body was properly looked after and fretting about death. 

It was best not to think about death too much. Or what came next.

As if on cue, his stomach chose that moment to make a loud, growling protest.

"You are hungry."

"Only a little," Crowley admitted.

"We can stop for food."

"No need. I can go a while yet. If we push on we can find somewhere to stay for the night."

"I should have got snacks..."

"They would only make a mess of the upholstery."

"We could get it cleaned out afterwards."

"And smell."

"...you really don't like eating?" Cas sounded confused. "Or is this you trying to tell me not to talk?"

Crowley turned and looked at Cas. He was frowning at the road, as if it would give him the answers to life, the universe and everything. Crowley already knew those, so he was surprised Cas didn't.

"I like real food."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean... real, identifiable food from real, identifiable sources. Not the junk in brightly coloured wrappers the Winchesters pick up in gas stations."

The smile that widened Cas' face was... Crowley wasn't expecting that. "Oh."

"...you're telling me you don't have an opinion? You have to live in that body for good, now, Cas. Shouldn't you be good to it?"

"I suppose I should. I was just going for convenient and easy."

"Good things are worth the effort." He pushed up to sit straighter. "Why don't we try it my way tonight. We'll check into somewhere overnight, and I'll find us a nice place to eat. Then you can see the difference. Hell. If it comes to it I'll _cook_."

"I can't imagine you cooking."

"Me either. But if you can learn to drive, I can learn to cook."

"Alright. That sounds like a deal to me."

***

The place they'd picked to sleep over was a dive. A complete, utter shambles. Crowley smiled a thin-lipped smile as Cas checked them in. Apparently it was the 'done thing'. Crowley didn't understand why if you were already committing the sin of credit card fraud to pay for goods and services you shouldn't then pay for _good_ goods and services, but he figured it was how these bleeding heart liberals managed to sleep at night, knowing they only defrauded _shitty_ things. Surely risking life and limb for the common man should be rewarded with at least stars above the name, not a blinking neon sign with some of the letters broken? No?

Cas signed them in as Jamie Westray and Alistair Smithson, the covers they had agreed on after much argument. Crowley refused to go anywhere with someone who called themselves 'Clarence', no matter how apt the joke was.

They carried their bags into the room and Crowley did his best not to make a face of utter disgust. He'd been King of Hell. Now he was brought down to crummy motel rooms.

"Which bed do you want?"

And then there was that.

"Whichever looks like it's seen the least action."

"I'll have this one," Cas said, and dropped his duffel bag on it. 

Crowley went to the poor excuse of a wardrobe and hung up his suit. They'd picked a twin room (why? What possible reason? Just because the Winchesters lived in one another's back pockets, why did that somehow mean that was _the_ way you did things? But by the time Cas had asked for a twin room it had been too late to object without seeming utterly bitchy and he couldn't take another bottom-lip wobble today. Everything was wrong. Everything. And Cas seemed to take every last little gripe Crowley made as some personal affront to his idol, Dean Winchester. He Who Must Be Emulated At All Times. It was unhealthy, really) and he should just thank his lucky stars it actually _was_ ensuite, he supposed.

"Peachy."

When he turned, Cas was staring at him.

"So. Shall we find somewhere that does something approaching real sustenance, so I can show you what you've been missing all your - admittedly short - life?"

Too-blue eyes narrowed. Cas was not-saying something again. Crowley was getting better at reading those things, or Cas was getting better at not-saying them. Cas looked away first. "Yes. That would be nice."

***

They found somewhere - not with the internet as Cas had suggested, or even by wandering. Crowley surprised the ex-angel by telling him to simply 'get his coat' and walking out into the evening air with nothing but his wallet and the keys to their room.

Cas followed, of course, his earlier misgivings apparently forgotten in his current curiosity.

"But where are we going, Crowley?"

"Alistair," he reminded him. "We're going to find somewhere that does real cooking. Doesn't have to be posh. Just has to be real food."

To be fair, he wasn't quite sure what he was looking for, but he knew he'd recognise it when he found it. When he did, he knew it was perfect. It was a small Greek place, with blue and white flags proudly painted by the name. It didn't bother with a gimmicky name, and the menu was there, in all its faded glory, in a metal case bolted to the side of the door. Everything written there was as it should be, and the fact they hadn't changed their menu in a while boded well for them knowing their stuff.

"How do you know to come here?" Cas asked. "I mean. This is not what I would think you would enjoy."

"Cas... cuisine from all around the world is good. The key is to find somewhere that would eat the food they cook themselves. Take a deep breath in and _smell_. Can't you tell there's love in that?"

"It just smells like normal food to me," Cas admitted. 

"You have so much to learn," Crowley told him, and waved him in.

As they entered, the proprietor greeted them with open arms. The little restaurant was sparsely decorated but clean. Everything looked well-loved and Crowley could tell by the accent of their host that at least one of the staff knew what was authentic.

"I don't know what to order," Cas said, when the waiter left them with menus and politely returned to chat up the woman behind the bar.

"Let me pick a few things for you, then. Have you met anything you don't like? No? Okay... to guide you in gently, I think you should try gyros. It's the closest to fast food you're going to get whilst still being delicious... I'm going to have moussaka but you can try some of it. And you're going to have to try ouzo, but don't say I didn't warn you on that."

"Okay." Cas looked bewildered. 

"Just trust me, angel," he said, not even realising he'd let the term of endearment slip until Cas squirmed. Thankfully, their waiter came over before either of them said anything more.

Crowley ordered for both of them and some metaxa in case Cas didn't like ouzo and was pleasantly surprised when their host brought out some pittas and tzatziki for them whilst their main meals were prepared.

"I always liked Greece," Cas admitted, following Crowley's lead and ripping chunks of warm bread to dip in the sauce. "In fact, all the Mediterranean countries. They were the most interesting for a long time."

"There's the spirit." His tongue flicked out to catch a dribble trying to escape. "Now isn't this better than some processed, homogenised, clone?"

"I am enjoying it, yes. Although the alcohol is very strange."

"Well, if all you've drunk is bourbon and beer then your palate will need educating."

"So did you get any further with your research on what we're hunting?"

Ah. Ever business. Never pleasure.

"Not quite. The signal to noise ratio coming out from there is horrific. I have a few leads we could look into: there was some minor furore about a suspected coven, claims of Satanic worship - I think that is likely just posturing but worth checking out in case - and some histrionic letters into the local rag and Facebook groups about mutilated housecats... nothing that strikes me as really important. Are you sure there was an alert, and it's not just Dean trying to get me bumped off?"

"Dean would not do that."

"Well. You keep telling yourself that."

Their mean dishes came, and Crowley struggled to tear his eyes away from Cas as he ate. At first it was just to see the reaction on his face as he tasted it, but he saw him about to reach for his cutlery in some attempt to be polite and he had to tut.

"No... come on. Use your fingers, C-- Jamie. We're all friends here."

So Cas picked up the sandwich brimming with fresh meat and salad and attempted to stuff it in. It was rather obscene, and maybe Crowley should have let him use his knife and fork after all. Intense concentration was all over Cas' face as he chewed, processing all the flavours and textures as Crowley had wanted him to. Which was when Crowley became hyper-conscious of the man's neck. He'd called him giraffe for a reason, after all, but that was _before_ he had to watch the strange elegance his form seemed to devote to _swallowing food_. Or the way he kept pressing his lips together to make sure he wasn't making a mess, or the tongue that snuck out when there was...

Moussaka. Crowley aggressively cut off a nice square and picked it up and moved it over to Cas' plate for him to try. "Here," he said, voice a little strained. "I'm taking it upon myself to educate you in matters of the flesh."

He hadn't meant for _that_ double entendre. Well. This time. What the... Hell was wrong with him?

"You are a very good teacher," Cas said, using his thumb to swipe at the corners of his mouth as he decided to try the mousakka next.

Crowley wasn't sure what to say to that, so he just waited for Cas to give his next opinion on the food 'great' and 'tasty' and 'I'm looking forward to trying more things' and then they continued to discuss what time they were going to get up and check out in the morning to get enough road behind them. It was turning into a four day drive already, with how nervous Cas was being, but Crowley reasoned four days was faster than the dead they would be if he was let behind the wheel again.

Once they were done, Crowley insisted that they have baklava for desert, knowing the angel was fond of bees and honey. It was - of course - perfect. He ordered the same for both of them because he was feeling a bit tired of all the decisions by this point.

"Shall I bring one big serving and two spoons?" their host asked.

"Yes please!" Cas answered before Crowley could stop him. "It will save on the washing up for them," he added, sotto voce, when the man was gone.

"How very thoughtful of you."

"I have washed dishes. It is not fun."

"I suppose not."

Crowley nearly stabbed a fork into his leg when they finally brought it back. It was cut into a crude heart shape, and the very nice but very mistaken man gave him a wink when he put it between them.

"Enjoy."

"We will!" Cas insisted, grabbing his spoon and hovering - waiting for Crowley to be ready too.

"Well... I'm going to take tonight as a success."

"Yes! We should do this everywhere. This is better than taking burgers back to the room."

If nothing else, that was a success.

***

Crowley did enjoy feeling the buzz from alcohol again. It was never quite the same when you could wish away the inebriation with nothing more than a thought. It made it hollow, and like you were feeling it through a filter. Now, though, that he was human again? Oh yes. He felt it. His legs were trying to rebel on the way back to their motel, and his head was slightly fuzzy. Nothing he couldn't handle, but... he'd drunk more than maybe was wise. Due to forgetting his limits. Due to... having some for the first time in a very, very long time.

Cas was worse. Cas was a giggly drunk, but he kept trying to hide it under his hands and looked guilty whenever one escaped. If you'd asked him a year ago to imagine Cas drunk and human... he would have been convinced the angel would be one of those 'sink into a deep depression and look balefully at the world and say things like _my isn't it all gloomy here in existence_ ', or something. He would not have expected shy giggling and him almost tripping over his oversized feet.

When they got back to the motel, Cas threw himself down onto his bed and it creaked in a worrying fashion. 

"That was fun," he proclaimed. "I think I see why people drink. I mean. Not Dean. Dean doesn't drink like that. Dean always seems sad when he drinks. But not everyone drinks to be sad, do they?"

The once King of Hell shook his head. "No, Cas. Not everyone drinks to be sad. People with drinking problems - or just problems - do that."

"I think we were cooped up in that bunker too long," Cas went on. "I think we should do this more often. Maybe not all the time... but we should do it a lot. I want to see _everywhere_. And I want to save a lot of people. And I want to eat and drink _everything_ , Crowley. Everything. I only have a set amount of days left so now I am going to have to use them all, rather than just..." Those piercing eyes were on him again. "...instead of just keep going on from day to day like I used to do when I was an angel."

"I'm pleased you're seeing the silver lining."

"You have to," Cas insisted. "I tried being sad about it, and it was... well. It was sad. I was sad for a long time. Really... really sad."

"Yes, so I see."

"But now I'm not sad. I'm happy. I'm not that bad a human after all, and I have a _reason_ again. Maybe I was always supposed to wind up human? I don't know. But I can't change it, so why don't I... enjoy myself?"

Which was much deeper than Crowley had time to think about right now. He sat on his own bed and started to unlace his shoes.

"You should be more happy," Cas carried on, in that drunken-truth way that... Crowley hadn't been around in a while. Most of his associates were - had been - fellow demons.

"Everyone should be more happy," he countered, pulling the socks from his feet. Feet were truly disgusting, when you thought about it. And socks were nasty. They were, at least, not the nastiest clothes he had to wear these days.

"You always look sad." Cas was clearly not giving up on this line of thought. "Maybe you should tell me what makes you sad."

"I don't think I need any psychobabble nonsense, although the thought is appreciated."

"It's not nonsense. You're sad. I'm happy. You sad makes me sad. I want you to be happy."

The logic was twisted and torturous to his ears. So he offered the biggest, shit-eatingest grin he could. "Happy. See?"

There was a sigh and a pout from across the room. "Okay." Cas got up and went into the bathroom, and Crowley ignored the noises the other man made as he got ready to sleep.

***

Day two of the marvellous road trip came and Crowley was pleased to see both of them had managed to escape the nasty little demon called 'hangover'. His mouth did feel like something had died in it, though, and no matter how much he brushed his teeth he felt sort of icky. Still. He'd had worse.

They checked out with minimal fuss (the woman on what passed for the 'Reception' desk was about two breaths away from being an actual zombie) and reloaded the car. 

"You do realise," Cas said, as he put his bag back into the trunk, "that we're going to be very conspicuous in this."

"Yes. And?"

"Well it's going to be a bit of a give-away if we're involved in any car chases or we're parked near crime scenes. You know. People are going to remember what it looks like and so police will be on the look out for us."

"Are you planning on any of the above?"

"No."

"Well we should be fine then."

Crowley sunk into his seat (he'd decided being driven was not, in actuality, an affront to his masculinity but that he was instead perfectly fabulous for being waited on instead) and fiddled with the radio dials. He could _feel_ Cas' smirk as he got into the car too.

"Are you going to be a better navigator today?"

"How hard can it bloody be? We go in a straight line until we get there. I saw the map."

"Okay." 

"But you do turn if you're going to go _into_ something," he added.

"Ah. That's what I was doing wrong."

"Just drive, angel. Just drive."

***

The first place they visited was a bust.

"I'm sorry, but no self-respecting witch would _ever_ mix those two up. Hacks and charlatans, the lot of them, too busy applying eyeliner to find their third eye with their elbow."

The second place they visited was a bust.

"Mange and fleas are not mutilations, it's simply poor care. _And_ they're all crazy."

The third place.

"He was just cloud cuckoo. I am not even going to dignify listing his problems. Just no, Cas, no."

The fourth. The fifth. By the end of the day, Crowley was exhausted from all the walking and from every second person questioning his role as an (admittedly fake) FBI agent due to his accent being 'weird'.

"It's not bloody weird they're all just heathens who think that LondonEngland is all one word."

Cas was nowhere near as sympathetic as he should be, considering this whole blasted trip was his idea. 

By the end of the day, he didn't even protest when the only place they could find to eat was the bar. There was the vague pretence of listening out for rumours, but mostly Crowley just wanted to sit down, eat, drink, and never use his feet for anything ever again. Ever.

"What about these planes," Cas suggested, and Crowley could tell he was clutching at straws now, because he was leafing through yesterday's newspaper. "Two of them have gone missing. Little ones. The ones only a few people are on, not hundreds of people."

"Missing?"

Cas turned the paper around and pointed, waving their waitress away with a polite 'We've not decided yet' shake of his head.

Crowley stared at the paper. Two private small aircraft missing in what the paper called the 'Bridgewater Triangle'. Well. It sure beat looking for a giant eagle out in the suburbs that crapped misfortune, Crowley guessed.

"Sure. Why not. I mean, considering everything else we've checked out it makes as much sense as anything else."

"Great." Cas beamed. Then he looked up - using that skill he had of being forever able to summon wait staff which was most certainly unholy - and ordered something generic that - for maybe the first time - sounded appealing. Exhaustion, it must be.

"Same for me."

***

"Well. We've established a pattern. Three planes every five years. Same place. We don't know _how_ and we don't know _why_."

Cas nodded furiously. "Isn't it wonderful?"

"Not really, Cas, no."

Cas rolled his eyes. Maybe Crowley was rubbing onto him after all. 

"We know another plane is due to go missing but we have no eyewitnesses because everyone involved is on the missing planes. We have reports of radar disturbance, and we have no idea when the next plane will go down or where. Or when. Or which. Or how. Or anything."

"We could hire a plane and fly around in it?"

"...you seriously think that's a good suggestion? Fly off into the maw of whatever entity keeps snatching metal birds? I know we're meant to be doing good, but _actually_ sacrificing yourself for no real reason is not - from what I've seen - the Winchester MO."

"We... could ask them for help?"

"No."

"They have experience in this, Crowley."

"Yes, and if we call them and ask for help with everything, you do realise we'll never learn how to do this ourselves? Don't you have any sense of... pride in your work?"

Crowley realised that Cas thought he was being harsh, because that open hope on his far-too expressive face vanished again. "I suppose you're right." But then - like the sun rising over the horizon - his face lifted. "You... want to do this right?"

"I want to do anything I do 'right', Cas. I don't do half measures. If I'm in something, I'm _in_ it."

"...why don't we go to the airfield and see if we can talk to lots of pilots. Maybe one of them has seen something."

"...okay."

"You think it's a good idea?"

"I think it's the best we've got. Yes, Cas. I think it's a good idea."

"Great. Come on."

***

"Yeah. S'plenty strange goes on. Folks who fly here a lot are used to it," said the pilot busy checking over his small craft.

"What kind of strange things?" Cas pushed.

"Lights. I mean, we get 'em a lot. But every few years, they go sort of..." He made a gesture that most closely resembled a mess, evidently expressing himself eloquently came second to his plane-flying abilities, Crowley thought.

"And how would you describe these lights?" the ex-demon asked, tapping the pen against the notepad he had. He wasn't sure it would help to write things down but he wasn't going to let something as simple as faulty recall ruin his budding career of _being a better hunter than the Winchesters_.

"Sort of... like... giant bugs or something. Or flying candles. Sometimes it's just like a landing strip in the distance - where one shouldn't be - other times they get up close and mess with your visibility."

"I see."

"No need to talk like that... it's not just me who's seen 'em." The man was defensive and surly. 

"No... no I believe you. I just wasn't expecting to hear about them in this particular part of the world, Mr Stoneham," Crowley reassured him. "Normally it's over bogs and marshes." Apparently getting people to talk to you required being an ass-wipe too. Great. Just what he wanted. A million new people he had to be polite to in order to get what he wanted from them.

"Do you think you could show us where these lights normally appear?" Cas asked.

"Sure. You gotta map?"

Cas did. Of course Cas did. He'd packed everything he thought might be helpful into a little rucksack which he insisted bringing along. Crowley had thought about vetoing it, until he realised _Dean didn't carry one_ and it meant Cas was thinking for himself and that was a good thing.

"Here..." Cas was spreading the map out over the plane's nose, until the pilot clucked at him and pointed out the nearby table. "Oh. Yes. Good plan." He picked up the mostly unfolded map and walked awkwardly over to the table.

Crowley should really have helped him, but it was too funny to see him tripping over his own feet in his exuberance. Eventually the map was pinned down and Stoneham was pointing to somewhere a few miles out of town, over empty land. That made a bit more sense, but it was still not quite what he'd expected.

"How often do you see the lights?"

"Sometimes not for months. Sometimes it's every night."

"And no one's ever worked out why they show up or what they are?"

"Nope. I mean, a few lights here and there's nothing compared to what them _witches_ are up to. Summoning Satan and dancing around in the--"

"Thank you. I think we have all we need."

"Sure."

"Do you think we could take a flight with you?" Cas asked him, evidently still not giving up on his kamikaze plan.

"Sure, if you're willing to pay for fuel and time."

"Great. Do you think we could go up now? I have money..."

"Okay... if you like?"

And all Crowley could do was nod.

***

Planes, it turned out, were small. Very small. Admittedly this was even smaller than a normal plane - the ones you saw on films and things - and thus it probably wasn't representative for how planes would really be. But Crowley wasn't especially tall and he still found it cramped and awful. He could only imagine what Cas was feeling, and he wondered if the 'you must be under this tall to not end up with your balls back inside you' was what kept the Winchesters from flying around from job to job. Perhaps he would ask Moose when they got h-- back.

Cas, meanwhile, was having the time of his life. You might be forgiven for doubting he'd ever had a set of wings of his own, because his nose was pressed to the glass and he was staring at the mechanical - and motionless - wings like they were the best thing since alcohol.

Crowley felt sick.

"Well, we're coming up on it. To the right... yeah just there... that's where it starts. I'll go in a big circle round all where we see them, so you can get a feel for it..."

Perfect. _Turning_. It wasn't bad enough to go up and down, now he wanted to _turn in circles_? Crowley was going to have to have words with Cas later. He might miss flying but he could do this on his own in future.

Cas seemed to notice, because when he looked up from the window his expression morphed into one of concern. Crowley shook his head before Cas could say anything. He didn't want the pilot to realise he was feeling... airsick. Cas - for once - picked up on it and nodded.

And put his hand on Crowley's knee, thumb rubbing softly, his attention back on the window and giving him space.

Except for the hand.

Crowley suddenly didn't feel sick at all any more.

He also didn't dare breathe.

***

Back in the - slightly less crummy - motel that might even, under certain lights, pass as a hotel, Crowley immediately got out his laptop and started furiously looking up reference documents.

"Uhm. Crowley?"

"Yes, kitten?"

"Don't... don't you want to eat?"

"I need to work out this... this... _thing_."

Crowley didn't look up, or he would have seen an expression of utter delight on the once-angel's face. "Shall I go get some food and bring it back?"

"Yes. Perfect."

By the time the other man came back, Crowley was incensed and proud in equal measure. Cas had a bag full of snacks, and Crowley just reached in and grabbed the nearest bag of chips. Now he no longer felt like the world was spinning thanks to the short flight, he found he was ravenous.

"You found something?"

"Yes... look..." he turned the machine so Cas could see the illustration. "Will o'the wisp."

" _Ignis fatuus_?" Cas asked. "Fairy lights?"

"Yes. Precisely." He licked his fingers clean. "It used to be said the candles or lights would lead travellers from the road into their death in marshes and bogs. I guess this is the logical progression: pulling planes with false landing paths or dazzling the pilots so they crash."

"But what's happened to the planes and the pilots?"

"I haven't worked that out yet."

"And how do we stop them?"

Now Crowley's eyes grew hard. "I've been reading up on the history, the theories. The most popular one - and the one I'm inclined to believe - tells the story of 'Stingy Jack' or 'Will the Smith' - basically the same story, with a few details different."

Castiel nodded and sat down on the bed beside him. Crowley didn't even process the fact they were too close for comfort, he was too tied up in his professional anger.

"For whatever reason, this Jack or Will makes a deal with the devil - I'm guessing one of the other crossroads demons, to be fair, because Lucifer wasn't into that gig - and then when the demon shows up to collect on the promise, this bastard swindles him out of it by trapping the demon. Now he's too evil to go to Heaven, but Hell is pissed with him, so they give him a light which he carries with him all the time, and curse him to wander the Earth forever... a bit like Cain? Yes."

"And that's where the pumpkins and the costumes come from?"

"...sort of. There's also some pagan rituals and mass marketing behind that, Cas."

"So you want to take him down because he... broke a deal."

Crowley's lips pressed into a thin line. "Yes." He would be lying if he said he didn't. It was - after all - the job he'd done for so long. And the fact that some punkass human had got one over on one of his coll-- his _ex_ -colleagues... it was an affront. "Also then we will solve the case."

"So... how do we find this Jack, Will, whoever he is?"

"Simple," Crowley said, with a smirk. "We find the crossroads where he buried his box."

***

"Are you sure this will work?"

"It's the best chance we have."

"But Hell don't want him," Cas argued. "They threw him out, remember. And he can't go to Heaven."

"Well, they will have the choice of take him in or send him to Purgatory," Crowley replied. "He's a soul, at the end of the day, and Hell needs souls. Whoever's nose was out of joint when they refused to reap him is probably long gone. And I want that bastard to rot."

"Okay. So we torch the box he buried and you think it will work?"

"And a few spells I've picked up over the years. I did say my mother was a witch, didn't I?"

"Yes. Okay. And if he turns up?"

"You're going to have to hold him off long enough for me to complete the ritual."

The other man swallowed. It... it was the weak point in their plan, of course. 

"Inside a circle of salt," Crowley offered. "It... it's the only thing I can think of. It's that or wait until he's in a dormant state or wandering off again, but if we do that... we have to let him bring down the third plane. He's been consistent so far."

"Well." Cas' hands slid over the front of his shirt. He'd ditched the jacket at some point, and Crowley was glad that if nothing else this front of being a federal agent meant that he had a legitimate reason to wear smart things and insist that Cas did, too. The angel had always looked gawkish in the clothes he'd never bothered to change. "We'll just have to do it fast."

"And then you can brag to Dean about how we did our first job all on our own."

Cas smiled rather too much at that. "Yes. I would like that, Crowley." He got up from Crowley's bed and walked over to his own. "I appreciate that you are taking such care with this. I know it is not really what you wanted out of life, but it is not what I wanted either. I don't know what else to _do_ as a human, though. I was not very good at it..."

"Well, you did better than me. I never even left that blasted bunker."

"You do not need to flatter me, demon-spawn."

Crowley almost choked at that. Demon-spawn? Cas was joking, but... he shook his head. "I'm serious, Cas. I've done this before... a long time ago. You? You were one of God's precious little spinning tops. You're doing much better at all of this than you think."

"Let's get our first kill under our belt before we rest on our laurels. So far all we have done is talk to people and look at the internet."

"...touché. Alright. But when we have that first kill under our belt... we're going to paint the town red, angel-face."

"I would like that very much."

"It's a date."

It sort of... was.

***  
So here they were, at the position of the last crossroads they could find on the oldest maps of the area. If this wasn't it, they were more or less fucked because it could be anywhere. Literally anywhere. And short of renting a geophysics team to survey for tiny little boxes with cats' bones in, this was going to be their last ditch attempt.

Crowley did not enjoy digging.

Crowley could not _quite_ let Cas dig alone.

His hands were _not_ made for this. He made a mental note to find some automated way of digging. It would be a more efficient use of their time, and would not give him a bad back or mess up his suit. (His poor, poor suit.)

"Do you miss this?" Cas asked.

"Physical labour?"

"Deal making."

He'd known what Cas was asking. He wasn't stupid. It was just... painful to think about it.

"A little. I was very good at it."

"Why did you do it?"

"Well, angel, when you're in Hell you have to work for your living or spend all day on the rack."

"I meant... make the deal in the first place."

Crowley bit his lip and dug a little harder.

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's..."

"It was rude of me to ask. I apologise."

Crowley shoved the spade into the soil and leaned on the handle, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "Life on Earth can be pretty shitty. I'm sure you've realised that."

"Yes, but... your immortal soul? I understand why people sin, but I do not understand why people damn themselves."

"Because you were an angel. You lived in Heaven. People down here? They don't know Heaven. All they know is Hell on Earth - or what they _think_ is Hell on Earth. And they don't see any way out. Faith is easy for you. You _know_. For everyone else it's insane. And even then... have you ever nearly starved to death? Have you ever been so in pain that you want to cry until you fall asleep and then at least you won't _feel_?"

Crowley was surprised to see the reluctant little nod.

"Well. Imagine that. Over and over. For decades. Imagine all the pain, and the exhaustion. And then one day someone tells you they can take it all away... and you don't really realise what giving your soul up really _means_."

"I am sorry."

"Why?"

"That you felt that way."

"I'm not saying _I_ did."

"Still. I am sorry. Maybe if the angels--"

"No, Cas. No. Angels coming down wouldn't solve anything. Some people just make bad decisions, and you have to leave them to let them do it."

"But if I--"

Cas had still been digging, and his spade made a dull noise. "I think... I found something?"

Crowley walked over, but there was a sudden chill air that whipped past them as he did, and when he looked up he saw why. There was a man - not quite a ghost, but not quite alive, either, sort of... half there, half not, in a way that made your brain hurt to look at him - standing with one hand palm up. Above that palm floated a warm ball of light.

" _You should not be here..._ "

Well that answered the question about whether they'd found the right place or not. Shit. They hadn't drawn the salt circle yet. Crowley looked at Cas who got the message, throwing the spade at him. Crowley dug for all he was worth.

"You have been wandering too long," Cas told the spirit, and Crowley couldn't look to see what was going on because he'd found the box now. His hands scrabbled through his pockets to find the matches and the spell bag he'd made earlier. Adrenaline was making his movements clumsy.

" _Here is where I always should be,_ " the creature said, his voice growing deeper and the wind whipping higher. " _Cast out by Hell, this is where I belong... _"__

__Crowley shivered. It wasn't nice to hear that said, even now. "Keep him busy, Cas..." He dropped the burning bag into the hole and started to chant in Latin._ _

__"We can give you peace," Cas offered. Crowley dared flicker his eyes up and he saw that Cas was standing between them, backing up towards him, hands raised._ _

__The creature - Jack - Will - whoever he was - was growing darker, like a shadow that pulled in the light, the only brightness now the ball that was whirling faster and hotter above his hand._ _

__" _No. This is who I am._ "_ _

__Then all of a sudden there was a flash and the ball of light ran at Cas, hitting him in the chest and sending him flying._ _

__**Fuck.** _ _

__Crowley didn't even think, he ran straight at the monster. He saw red, and even his own self-preservation instinct was silent. He hit the creature - it was solid - and it didn't bend when he smashed his fist into its face, still chanting the spell in a fury._ _

__He was batted away like he was a fly, skittling backwards on his ass and only stopping when he hit the side of the car. He was winded and for a minute, he couldn't catch his breath enough to go on._ _

__Which was when Cas got up. Crowley felt his heart soar at the sight, although terror followed quickly on its heels. He didn't want to see Cas hurt, but then he also didn't want to be hurt himself, so it was a confusing mess and then he found his voice again and carried on shouting out the spell._ _

__Cas now had the sense to pick up the shotgun filled with rocksalt, and he shot at the apparition. It turned, howling with rage, pulling the ball of light back together again. Crowley grabbed the spade and flung it at his head, even as the hole in the ground turned suddenly incandescent with his words._ _

__The spirit seemed to realise it was almost over, because he started to scream in protest, the ball of light sinking back into his palm and making him glow from within._ _

__The spell was over, so Crowley got up and grabbed hold of Cas. "COME HERE." He wasn't sure what was going to happen next so he thought it was best the hide behind the car._ _

__Apparently what happened next was the ball of light was sucked back into him fully. As the hole they'd dug flamed first yellow then red, and the light seemed to pull the creature in on itself. There was a horrible roar as he folded in, and Crowley was sure he could hear the snarl of a Hellhound bounding past. He held on tight to Cas - worried in case they dragged him off too - and then all of a sudden both lights went out leaving only the after impressions on the back of their eyes._ _

__And then it was over. It wasn't... exactly the most skilful thing he'd ever seen done, but neither of them seemed to be dead or fatally wounded... even if they were both cowering behind the car, covered in dirt, surrounded by the smoke from their little bonfire._ _

__But alive._ _

__Cas looked... ecstatic._ _

__"We did it."_ _

__Crowley grabbed the once-angel's face. "We did."_ _

__Cas put his hand on Crowley's, his eyes soft and happy._ _

__"Take me for that drink," he suggested. "Maybe after we get clean."_ _

__"You've never yet come up with a better plan, Cas."_ _

__"Give me time. I'm new to this, after all."_ _

__***_ _

__They did. They tidied up and drove back to the motel. Crowley showered first, because Cas insisted. He washed off all the grime and he was pleased to feel the slight burn already. He'd be aching tomorrow, that was for sure, but it was the honest-graft ache, and that was always slightly bittersweet and nothing like the burn of the rack._ _

__He emerged from the little bathroom fully dressed because they were still in that awkward stage where they went from one set of clothes to another like Superman in tiny rooms that weren't best suited for it._ _

__Crowley didn't have anything to research when Cas was in the shower, so he settled on sending a brief text message explaining their victory to the brothers Winchester and feeling strangely proud when he actually got congratulations back. Even if he was sure Dean was choking on his fingers when he typed his._ _

__And then Cas emerged and he was dressed in his very smartest suit. Crowley couldn't help but admire it. The man did cut a good figure, even when he wasn't dressing flatteringly._ _

__"Perfect," he said._ _

__"Thanks."_ _

__Cas kept looking so... hopeful. Crowley was fairly sure he could read between the lines, but then... he could be woefully misinterpreting things. Cas _did_ get attached rather firmly to people, and he probably just... wasn't used to being around... people... and..._ _

__"I want that drink," Cas told him, and there was a waver in his voice that Crowley found so utterly compelling and... _shit_. _ _

__"Me too."_ _

__***_ _

__One drink turned into two. Into three. Into sitting across a booth from one another in the dive of a local bar, smiling and laughing and glances that lingered too long and sometimes drifted down to lips and... Crowley was sure Cas was as interested as he was. Maybe it was just that Cas didn't really get much in the way of tail, because for all he'd seen the eyes the angel had made at the hunter, and the hunter had returned... Crowley had never been convinced anything came of it._ _

__Maybe the ex-angel was just... lonely. Maybe he just had an itch he wanted to scratch. Crowley wasn't sure, and he didn't want to ask. Not when those cupid-bow lips kept pressing tight together and all he could think about was tracing the outline with his fingers, then slipping his fingers in and..._ _

__...Crowley wanted him._ _

__And they'd spent the best part of the week with everyone convinced they were already screwing. Not once had Cas ever disabused anyone of the notion, or even seemed to be surprised they came to that conclusion. And Crowley found he... sort of... liked the idea. Maybe. Working together... doing other things when off-duty... it could be the start of a beautiful relationship, if that's what Cas wanted._ _

__He walked him back to their room, the other man occasionally bumping into him as they walked, then staggering to the other side of the corridor._ _

__It was becoming increasingly hard to think._ _

__When they got to the door, Cas stood between him and it, a hand on his chest and a shake of his head. "Not yet."_ _

__"You've had enough to drink, Cas, and if you wanted more you should have said so in the bar."_ _

__"I don't want drink. I didn't really want drink before. I just thought it might make this easier..."_ _

__This, apparently, was Cas grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him in for a kiss. Apparently all the alcohol had been dutch courage. Which Crowley didn't mind, even though he could smell it all over him as that wickedly nice mouth pressed to his and moved under his lips. Cas kissed cautiously, like a shy but hopeful teen. It was probably an accurate comparison, all things considered._ _

__Cas broke the kiss - even though Crowley was about ready to open his mouth - and pushed him back, still holding onto his shirt. His eyes narrowed, his expression... complicated. "...was... that okay?"_ _

__"You ask silly questions, angel."_ _

__Cas winced and Crowley realised how that could have come across. Ah._ _

__"It was nice," Crowley said, putting his hands over Cas'. " _Very_ nice. But I think we can make it nicer, don't you?"_ _

__Castiel was blushing. It was... it was adorable in a way that sort of... sort of hurt..._ _

__"If you like. I know I am not as good at this as you. But I would like to be. If... if you did too..."_ _

__"Open the door, Cas. And don't be a damned fool... I'd kill for another kiss from you."_ _

__Cas beamed up at him, letting go of his shirt to find the key in Crowley's pocket with a wicked glint in his eyes that told Crowley the angel had plans that involved more than just kissing practice, and he was fine with that._ _

__***_ _

__Inside the room, on the stupid, rickety bed, Crowley stroked through Cas' hair as they kissed. He liked kissing. He liked kissing a lot. But he didn't remember the last time he'd done it for pure pleasure, without business or power being at the back of his mind. Cas kissed hopefully and curiously, his nose occasionally bumping into Crowley's, his hands never daring to do more than stroke over his jaw or his chest. It was sweet, but it was making Crowley hungry for more. He didn't dare go full throttle in case he scared the man off. Cas was too precious for that._ _

__Crowley pulled back from the latest attempt, the tiny noise of protest Cas made when he did that melting him all over again. His hands were currently balled into fists around Crowley's shirt, and he had his own hand on Cas' knee._ _

__"Tell me what you want, Cas," he insisted._ _

__"This," Cas replied, hurriedly. "I like this. It's nice."_ _

__Crowley laughed. "It is nice. Is it all you want? Just... kissing?"_ _

__Cas shook his head._ _

__"Have you...?"_ _

__Cas nodded._ _

__"Okay. Do you want to?"_ _

__Cas nodded more forcefully._ _

__"Will you let me?"_ _

__"I want to, too."_ _

__"I know. So why don't you? You're not going to break me, you know. And I like it when you touch me."_ _

__"I like you," Cas said, like that explained his hesitance._ _

__"I like you too."_ _

__"No, I mean..." His face scrunched up, then he hit Crowley on the arm. That show of eloquence he probably had Dean to thank for, who normally resorted to physical violence instead of expressing himself. "I _like_ you."_ _

__"I know," but his voice was softer. "And I told you: _I like you too_." God, this ridiculous lack of expression seemed to be catching. Crowley decided that was enough Star Wars dialogue and grabbed hold of Cas' hands, putting them both between his thighs and proving precisely _how much_ he liked him. "So... stop fretting. And just... go for it."_ _

__Cas' blue eyes went wide and then the blue shrank to black and the way his lips parted as he gripped Crowley's cock through his pants made weird things happen inside. Oh, that was good. He grunted and pushed into the touch, then started to unbutton his shirt and place slightly wet kisses over the exposed skin. He was hot under his lips and the noises he made when he scraped teeth down to a nipple made Crowley wonder how long it had been for _either_ of them, but perhaps Cas had done this more recently, if he had been doing it since... since..._ _

__He bit down over the tattoo that said a big 'fuck you' to demons (like his own, which he'd not wanted at first but then he'd agreed when he'd remembered the alternative from his own perspective, and yes, he didn't want that to happen, thanks very much), laving his tongue over the lines. Cas was moaning loudly, fumbling with his fly and belt and reaching into his boxers. It was awkward and clumsy and yet so very sincere that it took his breath away._ _

__"Cas, I..."_ _

__"Please... I want to..."_ _

__Cas shoved at him until he relented and moved, let the man manoeuvre him so he was sitting on the edge of the bed with his legs dangling down. His own shirt was ruffled but intact, but his lower half was becoming increasingly undressed. Cas had his belt undone and the fly down and he was peeling back the layers like they were giftwrap. The man put a knee on either side of him, pinning him down by sitting on his legs, and under those lashes he was staring down between them. At the way his hand wrapped around Crowley's cock like it was meant to be there. At the way he was stroking carefully, like he might break it. Oh god, he wanted him to break it._ _

__"Cas..."_ _

__"Shhh..." A finger on his lips, and now Cas' eyes were on his. "I want to feel this... I want _you_ to feel this..." _ _

__It was ridiculous. He'd been King of all Hell. Now he was letting this man sit on his lap and jerk him off, and he never felt so gloriously helpless and happy to feel that way, either._ _

__Cas smiled and it was like everything was great, but maybe that was the fact he hadn't gotten off in the longest time and Cas seemed intent on driving him out of his mind with his inexact but loving movements. Crowley couldn't look away. Couldn't do anything but let Cas work. His hands on Cas' arms, feeling one flex as it worked him, the other draped on his shoulder with his fingers toying at the (slightly too long, now) hair at the nape of his neck._ _

__"I'm--"_ _

__He didn't get chance to finish, because Cas bent and kissed him, even as Crowley swore into his mouth as he felt his climax tugged from him quite against his will. Cas' tongue stole in, taking his mouth as easily as he took his pleasure, stroking over his own tongue and moaning in reply._ _

__It went on too long. Much too long. When the kiss broke, his chest was heaving. His legs were shaking. His head felt woozy from all the kissing, and Cas was... Cas was _glowing_._ _

__"Good?" he asked, shy even now._ _

__"Bloody... _wonderful_." Crowley wasn't even exaggerating. _ _

__"So... you'll let me do that again?"_ _

__"You _are_ joking, right?"_ _

__Cas smirked. Yes. He was definitely a new man. "Only a little."_ _

__"Cas... _any_ time you want to do that... you just go right ahead and do it. Please. **Please**."_ _

__"Okay. I'll bear that in mind."_ _

__"You're forgetting something, though."_ _

__"I am?"_ _

__Crowley looked down between Cas' thighs, where he could tell the other man was doing his best not to just hump him. His fingers walked down over his chest to drum there. "If we're going to seal this deal... then you're going to have to tell me what you want in return."_ _

__"Silly demon-spawn," Cas chided. "I want _you_."_ _

__Crowley laughed. "Well. Consider it settled. But if you have any specific requests...?"_ _

__Cas shook his head, his own eyes sparkling with mirth. "New to this, remember."_ _

__Arms around his waist, Crowley flipped them, pinning Cas to the mattress below. "Well, then, I'm just going to have to show you the whole catalogue so you can work out what's best..."_ _

__He was sticky and messy and half-dressed in a ruined suit, but that didn't matter at all. He had Cas all spread out on their horrible little bed and he was kissing his way down towards his navel, intent on going lower._ _

__Some things were more important than decorum. Like the noise Cas made when he mouthed dryly at him through all the layers of fabric, or the way his hands automatically came up to cradle his head and hold him in place, like he knew what to do even if he didn't _know_ what to do._ _

__"Yes..." Cas purred. "Yes..." Fingers and zips and the dance as they had to move enough to let things be tugged out of the way. "Yes... yes... YES!"_ _

__Crowley could get used to hearing that. And it seemed that maybe they _could_ do this whole 'partner' thing, after all._ _


End file.
